Anton Boncoeur: Winter Mage
by cyner2u
Summary: So far just, a one-shot. This is the story of why a young Breton man was caught along the border to Skyrim. Tell me if you like it.
1. Chapter 1

Anton Boncoeur: Winter's Mage.

Once upon a time there was a small town know as Grandchat in High Rock. Though High Rock was in a state of constant war, Grandchat had three features that made it a wonderful place to live. The first was that it had no more resources than was needed to feed the mouths of its inhabitants. The second was that it was in the middle of nowhere and was nowhere on the path to anything. The third was that many a Comte (the hereditary leader of Grandchat) had taken great pains to build up strong defensive walls. In short Grandchat had nothing of use, was not on the way to anything of use, and the grand heap of nothing was hard to invade. Logically no one bothered. And so the people of Grandchat lived peacefully under the rule of a Comte Boncoeur—and occasionally a Comtesse Boncoeur—for many a generation…until the Warp of the West.

The Aedric gods had once again walked in Highrock and where there were once a hundred squabbling kingdom there were now only five. The town inhabitants awoke to find the Boncoeur Manor gone, with a handsome home in its place. The town mayor, who the townspeople had never seen before, was very confused. A shack had come up over night, in it, a man and a woman named Pierre and Marianne Boncoeur. The couple was well liked and respected and as a result, soon grew out of their squalor. Many women noticed that they felt the need to call Marianne comtesse—though why that was and what a comtesse even was they had no idea. As the years passed the couple proved to be barren and had no children. And yet the elders of the town could remember a smiling green-eyed boy, and Marianne on occasion would weep with great pain, not remembering who she grieved for.

Many years in the future, in the Imperial City, a small green eyed boy named Anton appeared before a statue of Akatosh. That he did not disappear shortly thereafter for a mundane reason was itself a miracle. Before the Great War, the Imperial City proper had been the jewel of the empire. The gleaming imperial palace sat at its center. Twelve walls emanated from the palace like spokes on a wheel. At the end of each spoke was a watchtower—allowing the City Watch to move quickly from one side of a wall to another, as well as to spot enemies from outside the city limits. Between each pair of walls stood a district, which was like a city unto itself, with its own purpose and character. Gates the height of ten men and the width of six lying down allowed citizens to move freely between the districts and the palace. Everywhere one turned, one could see the wealth of the empire on display, in the beautiful buildings, in goods flaunted by merchants and the jewels worn by the women, even the many races and colors in the city was a form of wealth.

The Thalmor invasion changed everything. Only the palace grounds had been rebuilt completely. The wealthy who survived the invasion had moved to the Elven Gardens district. Sometimes, with the City Watch out on the patrol, helped by hired mercenaries, the residents even felt safe. Everywhere else was a different story. The city was a society interrupted. The Thalmor had flattened enough houses and killed enough people that there were too few placed to live and too few men to build them. People slept in the husks of homes or even on the grass of the Arboretum. The chaos of the empire had made trade sporadic and traders wary of coming. The wealth pouring in from the rest of the empire seemed to grow smaller every year.

It was in this city that Anton appeared. If he had been taken in by the Thieves Guild or some priests in the temple district, his story would have been very different. His lot was far worse. He stumbled from place to place, his luck preventing him from staying in the clutches of those who would truly harm him. Being a smart boy, he learned how to use pretty eyes and pretty words to get what he needed. He would learn that remaining unseen could be more valuable than any handout of food or clothe. With his new knowledge he learned how to take from those he could not convince. Anton learned to fight as well. The small shank he carried had saved him more than once from street urchins like himself as well as more unsavory characters.

Anton lived like this for many years until the age of seventeen. He was not an unhappy boy. Through all of his troubles, one thing kept him afloat. He had a hope, a dream, one day he would steal enough gold to move far north, to the undamaged cities of the empire—to Chorrol, Cheydinhal, or even Bruma. He was even getting close to his goal, which was why he planned to do another job tonight.

-x-

Oh so very gently, I fiddle with the locks on the watchtower. So many who tried to get into the Garden District thought going through the gates and making a run for it was a good idea. How stupid of them. It calls too much attention, and even if you can slip out of the guards view, they know to launch a search. The watchtowers on the other hand, are a much easier route. The guards inside don't expect a sneak thief to be dumb enough to walk into a building teeming with them. They feel too safe to look for an enemy in their home.

I breathe a sigh of relief as the lock turns. It looks like this set might last. Lock picks are starting to become rare, and I have no idea where I'll find my next supplier. Inside I meet no guards, but the sounds of laughter and clinking mugs above me suggest they are upstairs. I waste no time getting into the Imperial City's finest neighborhood.

I pull out the clothes in my pack and start changing the moment I find a dark corner. Stealing clothes from the market district was one of my better ideas. Appearances are the most important thing in life. When someone yells, 'Help thief!' will the Watch be looking for someone who looks and sounds like the son of a member of the court, or are they going to look for a teenager in ill fitting rags?

With my impromptu makeover done, I step out of the shadows and make my way to my destination. I'll smile at a person here and there, occasionally working my hand into a pocket for a few septims. The road to the recently opened Drake hotel proves profitable. As I make my way through the lobby and up to the guest area no one gives me a second glance. Everyone assumes that just because you look rich you can't be up to no good. Oh well, I can't complain.

I decide to target a room on the southern side of the building. The south side has a view of the small park outside, and would cost the most. I can only pull a job like this once; afterwards security might be through the roof for the next five years. There's no way I'm settling for a small haul.

I have a good feeling about one door in particular, so I check for witnesses before crouching down and getting to work on the lock. The door costs me ten lock picks, but I still have to hold back a whoop of joy when it opens. The room is huge and filled with jewels, furs, and wines—perfect. I gleefully stuff my ill gotten gains in my pack…before it all goes wrong.

"Well hello there," says a tinkling, high voice. I feel a touch on my shoulder as ice begins to crawl along my spine. My muscles lock up quickly and I fall over like a log. A grinning Altmer stands above me. The door is wide open. For a moment, I wonder how exactly this elf lady managed to sneak up behind me, but the quiet, graceful movements she makes as she glides back to the door and locks it answers the question.

With a wave of her hand I start floating, which is a really bad sign. Mages don't exactly pop up left and right in the slums, so I have no idea what she's capable of. She waves her hand again, and I fall a few feet before landing on her bed.

"A human thief, how delightful!" says the elf before a wispy dagger appears in her hand. Oh god she's going to gut me. I try to move, to scream—anything, but it's no use.

"Now, now, don't be so difficult." She touches me again and the icy feeling in my spine returns. She brings the blade to my neck. Just as I think it's the end, she slices her knife downward. There is no blood or pain, just pressure, as she cuts apart my shirt.

"Much too dirty for these clothes…you stole them didn't you? Hmm, rather finely built though, you must be a clever sneak to eat so well." She glides her ethereal knife over the ridges of my stomach and I feel a chill that has nothing to do with her magic. Carefully she slices and removes every stitch of clothing I wear before gagging me with a strip of fabric. Each limb is tied to a bed post before she lets her paralysis spell fall.

"Do you know what I do for a living Breton? No? I work for the Thalmor embassy. It's really boring, a lot of meaningless paperwork. Not that you'd understand having a job," says the Altmer with a good spirited laugh. This woman was crazy.

"Anyway I absolutely hate it. The pay is nice and all, but nothing can compare with what I got up to in the Great War." A blood red flame springs to life in her palm.

"Can you guess what it was?" she says before slamming her palm into my chest.

OH GODS! _I'm so afraid, I have to move. The ropes won't go! My heart…it's beating so fast. Everything is…OH GODS OH GODS OH GODS!_

"Are you nervous human? Here!" A white light bathes over me and the terror stops. Everything is wonderful, and I'm so calm.

"You know humans are really only pretty when they want to scream. Shame you're a Breton. What I wouldn't give for an imperial…"

I don't understand what she means, probably something great… until she starts again with the blood red flames. But then comes the white light. Red, white, red, white, over and over again.

"Aren't I so clever—so delicious and not even a mark. I don't really need blood—that's more of Volenare's thing. How he loves to be the first to make a cut…" Her words trail off but she keeps going— long after I stop trying to pull free, long after my tears dry up. When I'm not under the dulling effect of that white light I realize she's caressing me, playing with me. It won't matter soon. With every round I feel my heart race faster and faster, until it suddenly it doesn't—it even starts to slow. My body is giving up; I'm actually going to die! The Altmer eases on her spell work to reach for my crotch. _Please,_ I plead, _someone, anyone, anything, HELP!_

The first sign is the widened eyes of my captor, the second is a growl. Then there is blood. A wolf unreal and glowing, made of the same substance as the Altmer's dagger, leaps—and then the elf no longer has a throat. She doesn't even have time to scream. Just as quickly the wolf's bloody maw fills my vision. I flinch and… nothing. I open my eyes to find that the wolf steps around me, using his teeth to make quick work of the binds on my hands before doing the same for my feet. As quickly as the wolf appears, it vanishes.

I shakily sit up, not understanding exactly what has happened. From my new position I have a good view of my captor. She doesn't look afraid, or pained. Only the elegant arch of her brows betrays her surprise. Her gold spun hair lies artfully around her hair. She is golden everywhere, from her skin to her eyes, to her clothes, like a glowing idol—except where she isn't gold. Around her throat there is only ruby red blood, and as she bleeds, the red consumes the gold. Her pool of blood almost reaches me before I leap off the bed in horror.

Barely able to breathe, I go for my pack; pulling out the rags I normally wear—desperate to not be naked. In only manage to pull on my pants before I hear a sickeningly happy "Alinell my love, it is me."

An Altmer man comes in. He takes one look at the she-elf, and screams in horror. Then he sees me. His eyes look anguished, broken even, but then they fill with a strange fire and I know that whatever She (apparently Alinell) did, this guy will be worst. Not even caring if I survive the fall I grab my things and jump out the window.

The next few days are a blur of running. In the little time I have after the Altmer raises the alarm, I run past the gates into the market district. The guards are far more concerned with keeping people out of the Elven Garden district than in it.

In the Market Gistrict I get no rest. City Watchmen fill the streets like they never have before. Guards check each person coming in and out of the Market District one by one. The wanted posters for my arrest are amazingly accurate. I wonder if they used magic to refresh the high elf's memory. It is only my penchant for disguises that saves me. I spend the three days wearing a raggedy dress and a blond wig. My shoulders were too broad to make this a good disguise, but sticking to the shadows helped.

Glimpses of the dull armor of the Legion ruin my days, and the gold of the Thalmor haunt my nights. I sleep for at most twenty minutes at a time before I have to move in a desperate rush. The search for me eases up eventually but rumors speak of new, more drastic measures being taken soon. This might be my last chance to get help.

Just before dawn, I make my way through an alley to get to Lucia's door. I had met the imperial woman maybe five years ago, funnily enough, while pick pocketing her. She caught me, and thought I was adorable. Gunnar, her Nord husband did not. That's probably why she couldn't adopt me. Still she insisted on teaching me to read, and since the lessons involved her giving me free food I went along with it. After quickly rushing me in to avoid attracting trouble, I become the cause of a whispered screaming match.

Gunnar claims that by showing up here I was endangering him and Lucia both. Guiltily I realize he is right. His solution is to hand me over before the City Watch arrests them for aiding and abetting. Lucia argues that I am a good person (which I don't agree with), and that guilty or not, no one deserves the tender mercies of the Thalmor (which I do agreed with).

"Look we should at least hear his story!" yells Lucia. Gunnar, used to not getting anywhere with his wife concedes.

"Fine let the street rat talk—after he puts on some normal clothes" he growled. Looking down at my dress I can't avoid blushing.

After a shower and a change of clothes, Lucia is trying not to laugh as I dump my dress in the trash. It's ruined anyway.

"I'm surprised that disguise worked," she says.

"If anything," grunts Gunnar, "the Watch should have locked you up for being too ugly to be free."

"Ha ha," I say as Lucia hands me a cup of tea.

We sit and drink for a moment before Lucia says "Well tell us how you got in this mess."

I don't bother lying about my reason for being in the Drake Hotel—Gunnar and Lucia know me too well. When I get to what Alinell did to me and what the result was, I have to put down my tea cup. I'm shaking too much. Gunnar's great blond brows are drawn together. His lips are curled in disgust. I notice that like me, he is also trembling—but he is shaking with rage. Lucia just looks like she might burst into tears, but she clasps my hand and helps me keep talking. Occasionally she puts a hand on Gunnar's shoulder to calm him down.

"I didn't even do it! It was that wolf. I still have no idea how it came or… What!" Gunnar goes from looking enraged to completely incredulous. Lucia just looks sad.

"Is he kidding us?" said Gunnar.

"He might not know. He's an orphan, and there are so few Bretons in the city nowadays. Who would tell him?" At this Gunnar grew quiet before facing me.

"Look kid…Anton, there's a good reason for the Thalmor and the Watch to blame you. Once a witness said you were a Breton, and they found traces of an attack by a wild animal—they knew you were guilty."

"But how is that fair, the wolf—"

"All Bretons can summon wolf familiars to come to their aid. Like all racial powers it doesn't get talked about much, but I saw it used often enough by Bretons in the Great War."

"Shit! ... I guess I did kill her."

"Aye," says Gunnar. "Now we need to figure out how to get you out of the city." I'm surprised by Gunnar's sudden desire to help me, as is Lucia, from what I can tell.

"Don't look at me like that. The Altmer bitch had it coming. A Thalmor dungeon is no place for a boy, even if he's a street rat."

"Thanks," I say. I choose not to point out how much his argument sounds like his wife's but I'm too thankful to do so.

"We can't get him out through the gates. And the walls can't be climbed. The sewers are the only choice."

"Gunnar that's madness," said Lucia.

It is madness. There was more than one way to disappear in the Imperial City. According to some, one of them was to be grabbed by the mysterious pale men who lived beneath the city.

"It would be madness to stay."

_Where would I even go?_ I wonder. Gunnar tells me to leave Cyrodiil. Alinell was apparently the Thalmor ambassador's lover. The man would turn all of Tamriel upside to look for me and he would be doing it for a long time. There is no province of the empire where the Thalmor have greater sway than Cyrodiil. The provinces controlled by the Aldmeri Dominion (Valenwood, Alinor, and Elseweyr) are right out for obvious reasons. And Morrowind and Blackmarsh are not the best ideas because I would stick out like a sore thumb. Hammerfell isn't part of the Empire and it's strongly anti-Thalmor, but it has an extradition treaty with the empire, and a pale Breton appearing among the Redguard was too suspicious. In High Rock, I would be surrounded by Bretons, but the paperwork to function in Breton society is too involved to allow me to keep my cover. Skyrim is the only choice

Lucia convinces me to let her sell whatever I managed to steal to pay for supplies. I hand over the loot in my pack with great regret. I spend the day in a closet with a bookcase pushed against it, in case the Watch comes calling. It is hot, and I am thirsty and hungry, but I'm used to it and I prefer this over being caught. Thankfully no one unexpected comes and it is Gunnar who pushes aside the bookshelf. Lucia stands, concerned with water and food and I have never been so glad to see her. As we eat, Lucia pulls out a new pack with a strange sheen.

"As you travel, you'll need to carry many things safely and quickly. A lot of your gold went to getting this from an old friend in the Temple district. It's water-proof and has an old charm to hold more belongings than can normally fit in it. It won't reduce weight however, so be careful. It also has a charm to prevent it from being seized. People may grab everything in your bag, but the bag itself won't be stolen."

"I'm supposed to believe that," I say, disgusted at Lucia's waste of money. Without a word Lucia gets up, picks up her coat rack with little difficulty and drops it into the much smaller pack. The rack completely disappears.

"Wow. Umm, never mind, thank you for this." Lucia smiles and pulls the rack out again, before pulling some more odds and ends out of the bag.

"I got a map of Tamriel, some lock picks, food for a few days, and furs for sleeping. I got you this archery set and a dagger. They're not very good quality, but they were the best I could get—sorry."

"Don't day sorry, this is much more than I thought you would get. Thank you," I say with complete honesty. This woman could have handed me over and grabbed my loot at any time. If she didn't want trouble from me she could have gotten me complete junk, and kept the gold. These supplies couldn't have been cheap or easy to find. Lucia was amazing.

"It's just that I don't know whether I should have gotten you better weapons or these—" Lucia pulls out five gleaming blue bottles.

"We've all heard stories of vampires beneath the city. I've been told that vampirism starts out as a disease like any other. If you come in contact with vampires, drink one of these. In fact you should drink one for every two days in the sewers; you never know what you might pick up."

This was—"Thank you so much…" I pull Lucia in for a hug. We separate at Gunnar's impatient grunt.

"'Nough of that," says Gunnar, unrolling a map of the Imperial City sewers. "I picked this up at work today." Gunnar was an overseer on the project to rebuild the Septim District (once called the Talos District). That's why he and Lucia can afford a home, even if it's in the Market District. It also left him in a position to access plans from the city.

"No one should miss this for a while. Yer heading for Skyrim so you need to head north towards Bruma and then get through the mountain passes. Avoid the roads, though small villages should be safe enough if yer desperate. The bridge is being watched, so once you get past the City Wall, you'll need to swim."

"Swim?"

"Yes boy. I'm sure you've swam through the waterfront with the other rats often enough to know how to do it."

"Gunnar!" says Lucia.

"What? It's the truth." He turns back to me. "The Market Sewers can be access from the south-east. From there you'll need to find the entrance to the North tunnel here." Gunnar marks a spot on the map, "which drains water into lake Rumare on the north side of the isle. Then after a swim yer free to move."

With the maps and gear in front of me, my situation suddenly hits home. I'm leaving the City, leaving home, forever. I'll never see the gleaming white-gold tower piercing the sky, the faded grey bricks of once stately homes, and the wild hidden gardens and secret streets. I'd never be in this place, where you could be invisible in a sea of people, free to be yourself because no one cared to look at a mask. I'd never see Lucia and Gunnar again. I've dreamt of leaving all my life, and now I want nothing more than to stay.

Despite the danger, Lucia and Gunnar see me off. Lucia checks to make sure I bring everything while Gunnar works to get the manhole open. While a last hug from Lucia and a handshake from Gunnar, I climb down into the darkness.

-x-

"He's going to die," says Gunnar.

"Don't say something like that!" says Lucia.

"What you think I want that to happen." For once, Lucia notes, Gunnar doesn't look absolutely thrilled with something horrible happening to Anton. He looks miserable.

"For a long time I though you did." Gunnar growls. He's such a typical brute, but Lucia finds it more amusing than repellant.

"It always surprised me that you were so cruel to him. I'd never seen you treat anyone else like that. I'd have took him in years ago if I didn't think you might do him harm."

"And you were right to do so," says Gunnar, not even able to meet my eyes. "I couldn't stand it…you replacing our boy."

"I was not replacing him! Wulfryk could never be replaced. I think about him every night, every time I hear a child laughing, every time I have a moment's peace. Anton wasn't Wulfryk, he was a boy who needed help…still needs help."

"And you were right. I admit it. Are you happy?" My Nord husband always a giant, a man who hadn't been young for a while now, suddenly seemed a chastened child—and we both felt ashamed. For how can I blame him, when I didn't fight harder for Anton? What had happened to me, what happened to the woman who would have marched up to her husband and said 'either the boy stays, or I leave.'

"No I'm not happy, and I don't know when I will be," I say. "Now come on let's head to the Temple District. Only the gods can help the boy now.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1: The Imperial Sewer

The sewer is a trap.

My last sight of the Imperial City is Gunnar's face before the manhole lid closes above me with a soft click. As I climb down, the smell of raw sewage becomes over powering. Everyone knows that sewers are full of piss water and crap, and everyone knows that this combination smells terrible. What no one can understand without experiencing it is the magnitude. It is the product of thousands—eating, drinking, _living_, and the inevitable waste such things produce. The stench almost becomes sublime in its sheer foulness.

I reach the bottom to find myself in a small room. Thankfully I'm alone—unfortunately, were there should be a door on my map is a solid gate of steel. I scramble back up the ladder to tell Gunnar that the plan is a bust. When I try pushing open the lid, it refuses to budge. I try yelling, and when that gets no result, I bang on it with my fists. My blows fail to make even the softest noise. _Of course,_ I realize, _with all the rumors—these must be designed to only open from the outside, and muffle the sound of anything…unusual._

I consume what little food and water Lucia gave me. Eating is almost like a form of torture. It's a constant battle not to vomit from the smell and make a complete waste of my meal. I lose any real sense of time. I call anytime I sleep night and anytime I can't sleep day. In the beginning, I'm kept calm by the thought that, _this is too ridiculous, this can't be happening, it's sort of funny_. This lasts only until I fall asleep and my next day is spent in tears, from the smell, the boredom, the sheer unfairness. I've been crying too often recently. I really can't care anymore though, a man's entitled to a few tears when he knows he's dying.

The next time I wake up in the sewers I am thirsty and dizzy and feel as if I had been bathed in a slime more foul than anything on Nirn. There is a note on my chest that turns my veins turn to ice.

_Dear Blood Sack,_

_ Thank you for the convenient snack. I usually have to come up top to eat so well. I've done you the favor of leaving the gate open. I must be honest—I considered keeping you as on hand and nicely trapped. However, I can find more cattle easily enough and I would hate to risk spending eternity with someone so stupid and pathetic. _

_Yours,_

_C—_

I look for—and find—my pack, with its blue bottles still inside. I chug one down trying not to panic. The potion is sweet and acidic, though grassy. I am still dizzy, but the slimy feeling and thirst fade. I try not to think about what that means too much.

Apparently, 'C' did open up the metal gate. I suppose I even owe them a favor. I rush out of the room as quickly as possible and follow Gunnar's map.

I find the North Tunnel easily enough, though staying unharmed on it is more difficult. After I am attacked by my second mudcrab, I take great pleasure in back-stabbing the vermin from the shadows. I find that, unfortunately, the North Tunnel is separated into two portions, and that the portion closest to the exit is inhabited by bandits. I suppose that few people would want to chase small-time bandits into a sewer, and it would certainly throw off scent hounds. The bandits patrol the raised platforms and bridges above the river of sewage that drains into Lake Rumare. I can either fight the well armed criminals in an attempt to stay clean or I can swim in the river of excrement below and avoid them completely. Naturally, I choose the human excrement.

It is nighttime when I get out of the sewer—and the city, mostly unharmed, if no longer able to smell. In my state, this is probably a good thing. I spend some time taking a breather the joy of being outside after so long. Then I have to get past my next challenge

One thing that should be known about the Imperial City is that it's literally in the middle of everything.

It's located in the province of Cyrodiil, which is in the middle of the continent of Tamriel. Not happy with just that, the city is also in the middle of an island—which is itself perfectly smack-dab in the middle of the massive Lake Rumare.

The City's island location means I have to cross water if I want to get anywhere. I suppose I could cross the one bridge off the City Isle to the west, but it's constantly patrolled—not an option. So yay—more swimming for me.

The swim quickly becomes terrifying. When Gunnar had planned my escape he assumed that as someone young, strong, and desperate, I would be able to swim safely to shore. I am still young and desperate, but I'm also anemic from blood loss and hunger. Though the wind is with me—and I am definitely swimming—there are times when I feel that the northern shore isn't getting any closer. My arms grow first sore, then pained, and then leaden and burning. It's only the thought of what waits for me if I turn back or give up that keeps me going.

As I finally pull myself onto the shore I thank the nine divines for the first time in a while (might as well thank Talos too if the Thalmor will kill me anyway).

I notice a strange taste in my mouth. I realize that it isn't strange at all—my mouth just no longer constantly tastes of shit.

Not looking forward to what I'll find, I open Lucia's 'magical' pack. I'm relieved to see that the rucksack lives up to her promises, and the contents are as dry and clean as they ever were. I drink a second potion of Cure Disease and notice that a certain queasiness vanishes. Absolutely exhausted, I still have the presence of mind to pull myself into some bushes and out of sight before falling asleep.

-x-

The eastern and western shores of the lake are sandy, flat, wooded, and easy to navigate. Unfortunately, my path to freedom lies north.

The northern shore of Lake Rumare is hedged in by a plateau. On the plateau rests the Great Forest. Vast, wild, and poorly patrolled beyond the safety of the Imperial roads, it might be one the best places for a fugitive to travel. The path from the shore inland is long and steep. I start moving the moment I wake up (at dawn). By the time I am done, the sun is once again low in the sky. The sight that greets me is a form of cruelty from the nines—a handsome little building with a sign loudly proclaiming it to be 'Roxy's Inn: The Home of the Finest Steak and Ale in the Heartlands'.

I've gone a long time without food in the past. I'm pretty sure it's a combination of being vampire chow and my swim last night that are making me so desperate to eat. The small troop of legionnaires passing in and out of the inn, of course, convinces me that I need to move on.

It's so strange to see them in an untarnished, red-lined version of the legion armor worn in the city. I guess that in the City Watch needs clothing that lets them come close to a perp without calling attention, while soldiers need a way to tell friend from foe. Either way it doesn't matter, I still need to get through without calling attention.

My map says that if I follow the road west, it will eventually turn north towards Bruma. I do head west, but cut north into the forest the moment the inn is out of sight. I walk for about an hour before hunger convinces me to try something new—hunting deer instead of people.

I pull out the flimsy looking bow and arrows Lucia gave me. My tendency to step lightly proves useful in the forest, and I quickly encounter my first prey—a large buck munching calmly on some greens a few feet away from me. It seems my luck has finally turned around. Rather clumsily, I draw my bow and take aim. I fire, and succeed in hitting the tree next to the deer. He turns to face me, and I string another bow in preparation for his escape. He doesn't flee. Instead, the buck charges at me as if possessed and in my shock I drop the bow and run.

A glimpse over my shoulder reveals bloodshot eyes and a foaming mouth. Somehow the first animal I tried to shoot has rabies. _Just help me please, before I get mauled by a deer_. This time I feel a tingle in my palms before I hear the howl. I turn to see the same ethereal wolf as before, _my familiar,_ savaging the deer.

The deer is in a sorry state. My wolf has ripped off large chunks of its meat, and the amount of blood is ridiculous, but the buck won't drop dead. After minutes pass with no result, I help kill it in the best way I know—sneaking behind it and stabbing my dagger where its spine meets its skull. It drops instantly. I wonder whether to actually eat the clearly diseased deer, but think _'What the hell, I've got a few more potions anyway.'_

It's not my first time building a fire. At some point I became too old for strangers to trust me around their campfires. That was when I learned what the trees in the Arboretum were really for.

As I start gathering twigs and finding dead-wood my wolf companion fails to vanish as he did before. He doesn't really do much, just watch me go back and forth. I get the fire going in a nearby clearing and take a seat on a spare log. I glance at the wolf and pat at the spot next to me. Without a sound, it pads over and takes a seat. I admire the flames for a moment before deciding to get to business.

Getting up again, I walk over to the fallen deer before using my dagger to carve out a large chunk of meat. The meat is gamey and tough to cut; blood sprays everywhere, but after swimming in sewage, I could care less about hygiene. I spear the meat with a long thin branch before coming back to my fire and slowly rotating it over the flame. The wolf, rather strangely, seems not to even notice the slowly cooking meat. He has eyes only for our surroundings, and I wonder nervously if he is expecting enemies. I turn to check on my meal, and when I turn back he is gone.

The sun has been down for maybe the past half hour. This far from the City, I can actually see stars. I can see shapes start to form in the sky, and I understand for the first time why people insist on grouping them in constellations. I turn to my meat, sipping it down with my potion. There is no point in moving tonight, blind to my path. There are no city lights to guide my path, and I realize that the hours after dusk are lost to me—good only for sleep. Beyond the glow of my fire, the spaces between the trees are pitch-black. The thought of what may lie in wait there until I fall asleep and my flames die leaves me cold.

I raise my right hand palm up and think _Please come my friend. I need someone I trust to watch over me tonight_. It is amazing how easily it comes to me—my hand fills with a bright purple flare, and with a whoosh my familiar appears, staring at me with placid glowing eyes.

"I can't believe it actually worked!" I say before hugging the ghostly creature without fear.

The wolf has substance, it probably wouldn't be able to bite its foes if it didn't. Its fur feels exactly like one of Lucia's rugs, except maybe softer. The contact creates a sensation that raises all the hairs on my skin. It's not unpleasant, just…different.

The wolf is tense in the beginning, but relaxes quickly. I step back and give it a grin.

"Right…um—hi again," I say, "thanks for coming." Any doubt I have about the wolf's intelligence disappears with the wolf's answering nod.

"I might be calling on you pretty often in the future. I can't really protect myself if my fire goes out and a wolf comes while I'm sleeping. Can you protect me until morning or—" the wolf dismisses the rest of my question with another shake of his head.

"Alright—I'll just go to bed then." As I begin to fall asleep on the bare ground, the air is filled with the sounds of crackling flame and wild howls. I suppose the howls should be scary, but to me—they bring only comfort.

-x-

I wake up cold and alone, but thankfully whole and healthy. The sun's rays are just starting to peak through the leaves—but will have plenty of chances to enjoy the beauty of nature, and right now, I need to get moving. The remnants of my campfire are the only sign I was here, but I am unwilling to leave a trail of ashes to follow behind me. I spend some time burying the ashes in a patch clear of plant life before asking my wolf to appear and heading off.

I'm under no illusions about my ability to defend myself from the wolves and bears of the Colovian Hearlands. I can't fire a bow worth a dam, and while I can use a knife, I've mostly been using my blade skills against malnourished street rats. As it stands, my wolf does most of my ass-kicking. That's fine, since now that I can summon him on demand, he is my constant companion.

As we walk northwest, we sneak past obstacles whenever we can. When we can't, my wolf barrels into the foe from the front, while I stab from behind. We are detected often enough that I become surer of my blade as I strike.

There are a few problems. The wolf always vanishes after about half an hour. Summoning the familiar has a price, and it always leaves me feeling as if I were hollow and missing a part of me. I recover, but it takes me entire length of time he is with me and a few minutes besides. In these few minutes I am completely vulnerable, and they are the most hated part of my day. Beyond this, the mental prodding I need to bring my companion takes time. This time might be inconsequential in most situations, but it's very important when being charged at by a bear.

Water is another problem. Despite all the green around me, there isn't a single stream or puddle to drink out of. I could keep drinking my _very_ expensive potions, but it seems wasteful and might even be unhealthy. My thought gets interrupted by a brown streak in the corner of my eye. I turn to see that it is only a squirrel, if an odd one. The little fellow leaps onto a tree right next to me and begins pecking and nipping at the park like a bird. After panicking at the thought of another rabid animal, I realize the squirrel's nipping has a point.

Where the squirrel bites, a wound in the soft bark opens, and water drips from the tear and into its mouth. After drinking its fill, the squirrel jumps down and picks up one of the small mushrooms that grow at the bases of trees in the area. It then quickly prances away.

Looking at the remaining mushrooms I remember that I haven't eaten anything today. I reason that if the squirrel thinks the mushroom is ok to eat I should be fine. I pluck one and give it to my familiar to smell. It takes a cursory smell before giving a lupine shrug. Taking a gamble I clean off any soil and stick it in my mouth. By some miracle I don't die a horrible death with convulsions and drooling. In fact the mushroom is delicious, somehow meaty and earthy at once. With a stab of my dagger, I manage to extract some watery tree sap. I am immensely pleased by my discoveries. From now on I know I am safe from death by thirst. I can also eat on the go without wasting time on setting up fires and hunting.

The sun is high in the sky when heat and aching feet force me to take a break. I don't give myself much time—as soon as I get my wind back I get marching again. I'm on a strict time limit. It was late spring when I escaped the city. If I'm too slow I might arrive at the Jerall Mountains in fall. I've heard horror stories of men freezing to death there in the middle of summer. If that's case, fall would make travel impossible.

After about four hours of walking I am almost bored to tears by the unending sight of trees. I'd like to do anything but simply walk. I turn to my familiar.

"What do you say to a little hunting?"

-x-

As I chomp on my food, I sigh. It probably would have been better if I hunted before setting up camp for the night. I still need to get moving if I want to cover ground before the sun goes down, and then I need to build another fire to scare off predators.

After cleaning up, I set off once again. I can a thinning in the forest ahead of me that tells me I've almost joined up with the road. With it as my guide I can head north directly now.

It's not to be. My familiar's ears perk at some noise I can't detect, before he runs straight ahead. I am not exactly thrilled to be running out into the open, but I won't be able to summon the wolf for a while and I can't afford to be separated from my protector.

Once again, I realize, my familiar isn't a normal wolf. Whereas a normal wolf would run off towards a bleeding animal or a potential mate, my wolf lead me to an odd, standing stone. There is something compelling about the strange glowing patterns etched into the rock, and I can't help but trace them. Touching the stone is much like touching my familiar—it stands all my hairs on end. It also plays a funny trick. The wear of the past days lifts off of me. I am left as light and completely sure of myself. The feeling is so foreign and illogical as to be unnatural. I realize that just like the idiot I am, I've touched a strange glowing, magical rock and expected nothing bad to happen. Well at least my luck has held out, no vampire, mushroom, or stone has killed me yet.

"So," I say, "can we go back to heading north now?" The wolf barks and shakes his head, before running further west. I decide that I may as well follow before some patrol comes by.

-x-

There is one more day of walking, hunting, and foraging (all while heading in the wrong direction), before the tedium is broken.

A grey face close to the ground peaks between the braches. There is a scared shriek and the face vanishes. I've been spotted! In just a short time whoever that was will tell someone else, and this forest could be crawling with Thalmor. I am about to start sprinting north before my familiar bites into my shirt and starts dragging me west again.

"Ok stop it!" I say, trying to rip out of the wolf's grip. "You've been a great help and all— but I'm not letting you drag me again! We're heading north. No-orth. Do you get it?"

The wolf lets go suddenly, causing me to fall over. His glance is as impassive as ever.

"Can you just explain what's in that direction?" I huff. At his lack of response, I am embarrassed to remember that as a wolf he can't really tell me with words.

"Is it at least important?" I say, feeling like an idiot. My familiar nods.

"All right, I'll trust you on this. But you better not get me killed."

-x-

I guess I was right about the gray person telling someone. Within an hour, just as my familiar fades, I hear the sound of heavy footsteps before five men with blades emerge from the trees. All of their faces are ashy grey, their ears pointed. These are Dunmer—dark elves. One of them (I assume he's the leader) steps in front of the others and addresses me.

"My boy came yelling and stirring up the village about a muddy, smelly troll approaching the village. I'm glad to see he was right about two of the three. We are the people of Bleaker's Way. Who are you?"

Well whoever I am I'm certainly not an outlay with a big juicy price on my head for murdering the Thalmor diplomat's lover.

I give my best disarming smile, though I know the effect might be ruined by the filth.

"I thought I saw someone!" I say, affecting delight despite the blades pointed at me. "Your son was half right about the troll bit too—the name's Andre Lacey. I had a run in with one—I made it out obviously, but not without falling in the things shit pile. Lost all my belongings—meager as they were."

"And what brings you here Andre?" says the elf, his ruby eyes narrowed. Gods even I had no idea what I was doing here. Finding an excuse would take divine intervention—oh that wasn't a bad idea.

"Oh me…I've long wished to make a journey to the wayshrines. I thought I could avoid bandits by not following the roads. Seems I failed to take wild life into account." I point at myself and laugh self-deprecatingly at my state.

"Ah a pilgrim!" I am sure the elves are about to lower their swords when another voice (tinkling just like Alinell's, but resonant where the high elf's was brittle, and soft where hers was sharp) cuts in.

"I greet you in truth, Anton Outlaw, once Anton Sneak-thief, who was once Anton No-name, and before that, something else." The rather attractive she-elf who steps into the clearing is not exactly young, though calling her middle-aged seems a stretch. Though her hair is tied up in the manner of working women and her clothes no fancier than any peasants, but she might as well be a queen wearing the finest of gowns.

With a growl, the mer who I previously thought was in charge raises his sword to deliver a blow. The she-elf is faster however and a white light flies from her hand and into the mer's chest. He stills immediately and lowers his sword, a dopey smile appearing on his face. The effect lasts for but a moment before he sends a bemused glare at the she-elf.

"Why did you stop me? This man is a threat to—," she holds up her hand, forestalling his words.

"He is no enemy of hours. It is…will be an honor to host him in our village and you must understand this," she says. "The five of you must promise to tell no one of Anton's professions. Ensure he is treated as a guest of honor. He may be trusted."

"If you say he can be trusted, I shall trust him. I will do my best as Master of Bleaker's Way to see him comfortable and tell no one of his true nature." The other four elves quickly follow his example and agree.

"What do you know of his true nature?" says the she-elf with great amusement. "You know only hints of how he used to feed himself."

"I suppose you have a point Satha," says the mer before turning to address me.

"What's all this talk of hosting me?" I say. "Who's says I want to stay in a village with one mer who wants to cut my head off and another who knows way too much about me?" The dark elf laughs.

"Who indeed? We have been making some assumptions on your part. Would you like bed and board at our inn?" The mer wrinkles his nose "And maybe a bath and some clothes as well."

"I don't know, would it be free?"

"Certainly, for a portentous visitor like yourself."

"Then I would love to take you up on your generous offer!"

-x-

The village is not exactly small. There are maybe fifteen adults, counting my escort. There are many elves that look about my age, in that finishing zone between childhood and adulthood. All look well-fed and strong for elves, (who are always slim). What is truly shocking is that everyone is a dark-elf. I've seen all the races of Tamriel before, from Redguard to Khajiit— but I was surrounded completely by just one of them. It is somewhat intimidating—and lonely. A young boy catches my attention. He is pulling and yanking at his mother's hold to get closer to us, his blood red eyes wide open in excitement.

"It's the troll I saw, it's the troll mommy; can we get closer—please?" I give him a smile and wave as I imagine he doesn't meet many strangers.

There are no paths to Bleaker's Way, and it would take at least a week to get here from Bruma or the Imperial City if you keep strictly to the Imperial Roads. That's when I am led to a very large inn. The inn's owner is called for and my situation explained to him.

"Well sera, I suppose it'll be good to use the beds in this era. He'd better make use of the bath and change before he even dreams of stepping foot inside."

"Of course Girmyn, I hope you don't mind leading him to the tub?"

"No I suppose not," says the inn-keeper. The Master of the Village nods, seeing his part as a host done, and leaves. The inn-keeper makes a motion for me to follow him.

"Wait a moment," says the witch, Satha. She reaches her hand as if to grasp my arm, but remembers my state and pulls back at the last moment.

"You have the air of a dabbler in magic. If you don't wish to be a disgrace to the craft," she says with a teasing quirk of her lips, "you are invited to seek me out tomorrow morning."

"I'd be honored milady," I say to the clearly important elf.

"Didn't you call me something along the lines of a know-it-all a few hours ago? I hold no titles, I am merely Satha. I do however—appreciate the desire to suck up." With a wave she walks off and leaves me to the bemused Girmyn.

"Uh…" I stammer at his raised brow, "I didn't actually call her a know-it-all...not in those words exactly." The mer shrugs.

"Maybe you should have, it's true enough," he says. "I hope you don't mind bathing outdoors."

"Not really." I don't bathe much anyway, so I have no idea. What difference could it make?

-x-

Bathing outdoors makes a big difference.

That's not really the first thing I figure out. The first thing is that bathing is awesome. The outdoor tub behind the inn is meant to be for the entire village, but I am the only one using it right now. Girmyn proudly tells me that the tub has real plumbing—it's filled with water piped in from an underground river and heated with an enchantment. However the hot water gets there, it is heavenly, and I feel less and less like a wild animal as filth is scoured from my body.

I stay in the water long after I judge myself clean. That is when I learn the importance of privacy. At first it is some young dunmer girls who seem to flit around in the distance away from me, staring and whispering in deep fascination. It's a bit flattering if odd. And then some male teenagers appear. That's when I realize that these people may have never seen a Breton before, and I am something like a freak show at the Arena to these people. For my own amusement, I give my spies a lascivious wink and a wave.

I can see the results immediately. The elves squirm uncomfortably at being caught before going their separate ways. Now safe from my viewers, I get up from the bathtub and proceed to dress at a normal pace before heading to the inn.

-x-

Girmyn looks up the vegetables he is chopping and nods before doing a double take.

"Breton, is that you? You look different when you're not caked in filth."

"I hope it's an improvement," I grin. The elf shrugs.

"Maybe, though your color is really off putting." The elf delivers the mild racial slur without any sense of shame.

"Hey! I've got perfectly normal skin for a human," I whine.

"I'll trust you on that, I've never seen a human before—comes of living here my entire life."

"If you have an ash pit I can roll around in and some lemons to squeeze in my eyes, I can try to make you more comfortable." Girmyn's lips rise in a faint smile.

"Hmm. No need for that, but there is a way you can make me more comfortable." Girmyn finishes his knife work and dumps the vegetables into a pot. "There's going to be bit of a celebration tonight and all of the grown mer excepting Satha are going to come to my inn. Would you mind taking orders and such while I man the kitchen?"

"Beats paying rent," I say. The elf nods and gets back to his preparations.

-x-

"Drag this table a bit closer to the bar. Uncle Arvin might fall over if he walks that distance with the amount he drinks." With a snort I do as the perfectionist elf says.

"So why all this fuss?" I ask as Girmyn rearranges the silverware I placed earlier (I steal silverware, I don't set tables with it). "You must have gotten used to a holiday rush in the hundred years you've done this."

"Well I've only been innkeeper of the Goodwill in for twenty years." The dark elf seems flustered and I realize that his idea of two decades and mine are very different.

"That's a long time." He looks at me incredulously. "Did you build the inn yourself?"

"No it's always been here, though it used to be abandoned. Redas and Satha wouldn't let anyone tear it down or take it over, so it was just an eyesore for the longest time." I have no idea who Redas is, but if they are as important as Satha, they're either another magician, or the elf "Master" who tried taking a swing at me earlier.

"What changed?" I sneak a bite of cheese as Girmyn thinks.

"I don't really know. I suppose the nagging must have gotten to them. Those who married into the family couldn't understand why they needed to look at a wreck every day, and as we grew as a town a place to meet and talk became more important."

"Married into the family?"

"Yeah the Dalvilu family—we're the second family to help found this village." Girmyn leans into me in the manner of all innkeepers sharing a secret. "No one will tell us younger folk what happened to the first one, it's a bit of a mystery."

"Huh so you're all related?"

"Not all of us by blood. Apparently it got to the point that there were only four Dalvilus and they all saw each other as siblings. Bleaker's Way was sort of doomed to die out. Then the Red Mountain exploded— and suddenly there were lots of orphans. Satha was passing through Morrowind at the time and took it on herself to adopt. The other three: Uncle Arvin, Uncle Redas, and my mother Malyani did the same—even found spouses. The rest was history"

"Well that's actually really interesting," I say, "but what's the big fuss about today?"

"It all started with the fact that Uncle Redas didn't make it easy to open the inn. Even after he agreed that the inn should be opened he said only a cook up to his standards could be the innkeeper."

"And those standards were high?"

"To be the chef you had to make three courses, all while using random ingredients shouted out by equally random bystanders. Each course had to be ready in thirty minutes and they all had to be delicious."

"You pulled all of that off?" I say, actually very impressed.

"Indeed. Afterwards Uncle said my skill was a sign from the gods to reopen the inn and threw himself into helping out. Each year since then, we've run the cooking challenge over again, and I am left overwhelmed cooking and seeing to their comfort."

"It sounds fun."

"Maybe, in either case you can handle the _fun_ of dealing with their sniping


End file.
